


An Independent Woman

by Lisa_Telramor



Category: Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Snippet FIc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa_Telramor/pseuds/Lisa_Telramor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enola doubts her brothers will ever see her for who she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Independent Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: Author’s choice, author’s choice, you want me to be ashamed, and you’re so damned scared when I’m not, when I refuse to be – because this is me, this is me, and don’t you dare look away now (Looking back this was supposed to be a kink fill. Woops. So very far from kinky.)

Enola stands over her brothers. There are no distractions, no disguises, just her on the wall in her sturdy lace up boots and plain dress with her hair wild about her shoulders. She knows what they see. They see a girl out of control who is endangering herself and her prospects for the future. They think she is delusional. They want to put her in a boarding school and dress her in dresses with nice lace up corsets that will choke off her breath and compress her organs and to keep her indoors and quietly dependant. They can’t imagine why a woman would want anything different.  
  
“Enola, come down from there, you must see reason!” Mycroft says. He always says some variation of that. “Reason” and “logic” that he believes have no correlation to a woman’s mind anyway. It makes her want to laugh in his face.  
  
She would have been gone already, but she had led them here to what they had been searching for. She was a Holmes as well; deduction was in her blood and she could show them that her mind worked just as swift—if not swifter—than their own.  
  
“The man you’re looking for is buried under the bramble patch,” Enola says. “His children buried him there after an argument went too far. His daughter planted the raspberries over him.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes narrow and his mouth opens, perhaps to question, perhaps to try and entrap her with words as Mycroft has tried, but she doesn’t wait to hear them. With one more defiant glare, she leaps from the wall to the haystack she knew lie on the other side. It would take them minutes to follow, but she has her disguise already prepared. They see an old woman shucking peas with eyes so poor she has to hold each pea two inches before her eyes with trembling, arthritic fingers.  
  
They cannot accept her yet, but Enola will damn well make sure they do eventually, because there are only so many ways a girl can disappear into London.


End file.
